


Unrequited

by lizbetann



Category: Red Shoe Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizbetann/pseuds/lizbetann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written approximately 2000, back when VCRs were still a thing and I was a wee bit obsessed with a Showtime series called Red Shoe Diaries....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unrequited

Unrequited

WOMEN  
Do you keep a diary?  
Have you been betrayed?  
Have you betrayed another?

Man, 35, wounded and alone, recovering from loss of once in a lifetime love, looking for reasons why.

Will pay top $$  
For your experiences  
Please send diaries to:

RED SHOES  
P.O. Box 7956-315  
Canoga Park, California 91309

All Submissions Strictly Confidential

 

Part One

The rhythm pounded into his body, driving his movements, focusing his attention. Sweat dripped off his skin, into his eyes, and he flung his head back to shake it loose, without once letting up. The slap of a hard surface meeting a yielding one was the only sound in the world, until it abruptly ended as he collected himself, and thrust his body into the void.  
The ball swished through the basket, and Jake's buddy caught it on the rebound. "Two out of three," Mitch offered.  
Laughing, Jake crossed to where he'd dropped his bag. Pulling out a bottle of water, he drank half of it in one gulp. "I've already beaten you twice," he said, pointing the bottle at his friend.  
"Four out of five," Mitch shot the ball to Jake, who caught it and passed it back.  
"Not me. I'll only kick your ass twice a day. Maybe tomorrow."  
Cheerfully conceding defeat, Mitch picked up his own gym bag. "Can't tomorrow. Lauren."  
"Lauren," Jake echoed. He finished the water and crumpled the bottle in his hand. Mitch laughed and said Lauren would be pissed if he blew off the dinner she was planning, but the almost smug, self-satisfied tone gave him away. Jake listened to the tone, rather than the words. His friend was happy.  
He'd had that, with Alex. Or he thought he'd had it. He'd thought he'd been building a life, building a home. He'd had everything he'd ever wanted, until it all crumbled into ash and blew away.  
He waved to Mitch and headed home, quickly, before his friend picked up on his dark mood. Once home, he threw his bag into a corner, dumped some food in a bowl for Stella, and went to take a shower. A cold one.  
Standing in the shower enclosure, he raised his face to the stream of water, letting it spill down his body. When his luck particularly sucked, his friends -- and their wives, girlfriends, and significant others -- tried to fix him up with "someone." The woman's name was always "Someone," as in, "I have Someone I'd like you to meet." Someone was usually bright, beautiful, personable, free from baggage , and Jake usually wanted to bite through whatever trap had him to get away the few times he'd been crowded into taking Someone out on a date.  
He was thirty-nine. Never married. Engaged, to a woman who'd loved him, and still had lost herself. He'd come home to his perfect life and perfect love, and found her dead. After he' buried her, he read her diary, and found that she'd been lost for a long time. Long before she'd fallen into an affair with a man she could not control. Long before the day she'd destroyed herself, she'd been destroyed.  
Jake had wanted to understand what had happened. Why. How. His one hobby was reading other women's diaries, prying into their lives, until their voices were the only thing real to him. They spoke and sang and wept and screamed, and were far more real than the mundane world. He really couldn't imagine what reality was anymore.  
The cold water suddenly became shocking rather than soothing, and he shut it off. Was this how Alex felt, he wondered? Lost in some kind of whirlpool, when up and down and right and wrong were such abstracts that they were concepts without meaning? For a moment, he was jolted with the fact that he had so little contact with the real world. He'd cultivated emotional detachment to protect him from getting hurt, from getting lost. And succeeded well enough that he stumbled blindly into Kate's bed, and tumbled out the other side with no comprehension of what had happened. They'd had sex, she'd introduced him to her husband, she told him that she thought she had fallen in love with him, they'd had sex again, she'd left. And none of it had really penetrated the fog around him. None of it had been real. And nothing had lasted.  
He was so goddamn sick of being alone.  
Anger rose in his throat, and he swallowed it as he dried himself off. Pulling on some clothes, he left the loft, Stella padding amiably at his heels. He'd go to the cafe, check the P.O. box, see if any new diaries had come for him. And he'd forget the choking frustration of realizing that he was alone, again, still, and probably always would be.

********

"Fuck that," Jake said to his boss. Usually, that wasn't the kind of language you used with your superior, but Jake knew his boss and, more importantly, Jake knew exactly what he would get away with.  
Martin grinned. "That's what you always say."  
"No, I usually get really pissed. I'm too tired to be truly pissed right now." Jake sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, lightly banging it to make a point. "The Millar Group. You've got to be kidding me."  
"They'll pay us a shitload of money," Martin pointed out.  
"Yeah, and we'll earn every cent of it. Idiots can't make up the minds until they remove them from their --"  
"You're going to be working with one of the staffers on this," Martin cut in before Jake could finish.  
"Great. Just great. This couldn't get worse."  
"It's not meant to be a punishment. Melissa's brilliant. She's just inexperienced. We're grooming her for great things, but she's got to have some projects under her belt before we can go anywhere. Trust me," Martin added with a smile. "You won't be sorry."  
Jake remembered his boss's words the next day when Martin brought Melissa over. She was a surprising mixture of every teenage boy's fantasy and the perfect businesswoman. Her suit was light tailored wool, with a pleated skirt that brushed the top of her knees. She was barely medium height, and the hand she offered was delicate, but its grip was firm. Masses of curling dark brown hair was pulled out of her face to brush her shoulders, and her eyes were direct, green, and amused. "A pleasure," she murmured, and her mouth curved as though she could laugh at any moment.  
"Likewise," Jake responded. The attraction was instant, overwhelming, and, the best he could tell, not returned in the slightest. Instinctively, he controlled his reaction, pushed it away, and focused on business.  
As soon as Martin was out of the room, Melissa moved to a chair and sat down, crossing legs that were truly remarkable given her lack of height. Jake had one hand on the file on his desk, but didn't open it. "Do you know anything about the Millar Group?"  
She considered for a moment, then her lips moved three degrees closer to a smile. "Sons of bitches?" she offered.  
Jake laughed, a quick, sharp sound of amusement. "Yeah. You're going to be hating life once you're done offering them projects. Still interested?"  
Melissa tossed a stray curl off her cheek with a quick shake of the head. "Hell, yes. When do we get started?"

********

"Damnit... Jake," Mitch wheezed. "Let... the mortals... catch up. Where the hell... do you get the... *energy*?"  
Jake caught the ball on a rebound, and passed it to his friend, who batted it away weakly. "Come on. Another game. I'll spot you two points."  
"You can spot me twenty points, and the result would be the same." Bending at the waist, Mitch braced his hands on his knees and concentrated on breathing.  
Jake kept shooting baskets, moving restlessly. Two weeks of working in close contact with Melissa was driving him crazy. The emotional detachment he'd been cursing was now his only support, and even that was fraying.  
She was warm, and he felt like he'd been freezing for years. Even strictly professional, her natural warmth was such that he drank it in. He wanted her, greedily, blindly, everything from just a physical release to an absolute desire to absorb her into him, to lose himself in her.  
Sexual frustration he could work out in pickup basketball games, in endless cold showers and jogging for miles. But the emotional starvation was eating him alive.  
Recovered enough to move, Mitch caught the ball once on a rebound and shot it back to Jake. "For God's sake, man, get laid already."  
"I wish," Jake grumbled.

********

"They want something... more," Martin said.  
"Damnit. I told you. I told you working for the Millar Group was going to be hell." Jake leafed through the proposals -- rejected proposals -- Martin had offered to the Millar Group that morning. Every single one of them would have been an adequate new corporate headquarters. Martin had been right; Melissa was brilliant. Inexperienced, but with frighteningly good instincts. But every one of the proposals had been turned down.  
Jake was still furious when Melissa walked into their workroom an hour later. His temper had been shaky since his attraction to her had started fraying the leash on his control. He could remember once upon a time when he didn't have to fight so hard not to feel, because it was safe. Safe to feel, safe to love, because there wasn't a yawning pit under your feet that would fling you down and down and down, no landing that would break every bone.  
Giving into childish impulse, he threw a pencil at the wall. "Not very satisfying," Melissa pointed out from the doorway. She leaned against the doorjamb and tilted her head, her body settling into a sinuous arch that put every one of his senses on alert. Jake had a brief flash of putting his hands on her, taking her down to the ground, and -- "What's up?" she asked, blithely innocent of the X-rated fantasy she was currently starring in his mind.  
~Don't ask,~ Jake thought ruefully. "The Millar Group rejected all of the proposals."  
She came fully into the room, slamming the door behind her. Anger fired her eyes and animated her face. "All of them? *All* of them?" she demanded.  
The camaraderie of the pissed-off was strangely soothing, and Jake gave into it, pitching the proposals into the trashcan. "Every single one."  
He sat back to watch the show as Melissa ranted and raved around the room. If she wanted experience in corporate architecture, this would definitely be an eye-opener. Annoyance and sheer lack of taste on the part of their clients was frustrating. And she'd have to learn to deal with it. It was his luck that he liked how she dealt with it.  
Winding down, she sighed and perched on the table. Her skirt was hitched high on her thigh, and Jake though he caught the top of a stocking. Hastily, he closed his eyes. "So tomorrow we start over?" she asked.  
"Yup."  
"Fine," Melissa said briskly, and he looked up in time to see her slide off the table. "It's four pm, we're tired and pissed off. Come on."  
"What?"  
She smiled at him with all the warmth he'd been basking in for weeks. "You, my boy, are going to be initiated into the mysteries of womanhood. You're going to find out what chicks do when pissed off."

********

Jake was used to being a single guy. When Alex was alive, they had both had active careers, so they had split household duties between them, but they'd never done them together. Grocery shopping was low on his list of favorite chores.  
Doing it with Melissa, however, was a revelation.  
She'd dropped him by his loft with orders to change into his most comfortable clothing. Uncertain with this new casual attitude of hers, he'd decided to take her at her word and pulled on his ratty workout clothes. Then they'd hit the grocery store and started filling the cart.  
"Popcorn, chocolate, Pringles -- gotta have Pringles -- apricot brandy, cheese, can't forget chocolate-chip cookie dough ice cream..."  
"Excuse me?" Jake asked. He had rapidly realized his job was to push the cart while Melissa dumped improbable foodstuffs into it, but he'd really like an answer.  
Melissa didn't give him one. "I've got plenty of movies at home, so no need to hit the video store. There. I think we're done." At whirlwind speed, she took them through the checkout lane and back to her apartment. She sent Jake into her kitchen with orders to unpack the food, then disappeared.  
She reappeared as Jake was opening up the brandy bottle. The sweats she wore weren't as ragged as his, but they were comfortable. Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her professional attitude had become friendly teasing.  
She'd pulled out action adventure flicks, and they'd crashed in front of her television, eating too much, drinking too much, having too much fun. If it wasn't for the fact that she was treating him like a sexless buddy, Jake would have been ecstatic. Much better than the uncomfortable getting-to-know-you dates he'd gone on. He ought to tell his friends that the best way to hook him up would be with junk food and Hollywood explosions. On second thought, it probably was not a wise idea to give them any more ammunition.  
Sometime before the end of the third movie, they killed the brandy bottle, and things got blurred. Jake vaguely remembered waking on the floor of Melissa's living room with a afghan over him. His joints complained when he hauled himself up to her sofa, but since he immediately fell back asleep, he ignored it. The faint haze of alcohol intoxication still lingered in his brain, and he had crazy dreams. He dreamed he was floating down Wilshire Blvd. in a shoe. He dreamed that the sky was pink and everyone sang instead of talked.  
And he dreamed about Melissa. She was sitting in the middle of a bed out of some Victorian fantasy, white lace and pillows and flowing draperies, wearing nothing but an expression of amusement. She held out her arms to him, and he stepped into them, moving with the ease that only dreams provided. Her skin was soft under his hands, and she moaned and arched into his kiss as though they had been lovers for years, knew each others reactions like their own. Her hands slid down his sides with tormenting slowness, clenching on his hips as his mouth dipped to her breast, licking her nipple, tightening it into a peak. Her breath panted in his ear as he switched to the other breast, as she twisted frantically against him. He pulled her onto his lap, his hardness probing between her thighs, and--  
He woke up.  
A light was on in the kitchen off of the living room, and got to his feet, stretching cramped muscles. Melissa was standing in front of the open door to her refrigerator, drinking a glass of water. All he could see of her was a robe that fell to mid-calf, with bare legs and feet below it. Speculating on what she might be wearing under it did nothing to reduce the ache his dream had left him with.  
As he watched, she poured more water from a chilled pitcher. "Can I have one?" He almost winced at the obvious huskiness of his voice, the lust that thickened it.  
She didn't seem to notice, thank God. Instead, she turned and offered him the glass with one of her easy smiles. "Sure. Have some aspirin."  
"Don't mind if I do," he said ruefully. He didn't have a hangover -- yet. Aspirin would hopefully kill it before it could attack.  
"Drink more," she said, a coddling tone in her voice. "Dehydration is what causes hangovers."  
~Great. She wants to mother me.~ He wanted to make love to her, sink so deep inside that he'd never be free, and she wanted to treat him like a five-year-old. Her outfit didn't support her attitude, though; the robe had opened, and a silk slip the color of raspberries clung to her body. "Yeah, I know," he absently answered her, watching her body shift as she turned to fill the glass again. Instead of taking it from her when she handed it to him, though, he gave into impulse, and slid the tips of his fingers over the skin of her wrist, down the back of her hand, watching her eyes as he did so.  
Hers were blind, and filled with a flare of heat that burned away anything resembling restraint. There was an insane pleasure in it, to break her defenses and touch the fire in her.  
Her hand spasmed and the glass fell, shattering on the floor. "Oh, God, I'm sorry," Melissa gasped, obviously disoriented.  
She moved as though she was about to take a step, and Jake stopped her before she stepped on the broken glass. Without giving her time to think, to react, he picked her up and swung her free of the broken glass.  
And couldn't put her down. Literally could not. His control howled at the very thought, and restraint disappeared. "I didn't mean to startle you," he said, in partial apology for the fact that his arms were still around her.  
She opened her eyes, staring up into his. In them was the dreamy, amused expression she'd worn in his dream. "Hmmm?" she asked, totally distracted, the flush of mounting desire turning her cheeks pink and her body warm. And when he kissed her, she responded with wild abandon.  
He wanted to touch her, everywhere, drag her along on a frantic run for climax. But she was three steps behind him, hadn't spent two weeks in a simmering state of arousal, and he slowed himself, paced himself. When he finally slid inside her, he was nearly insane and she was laughing.  
She fell asleep in his arms, and he lay awake holding her, stroking her hair. The part of him that he had closed off four years before was open wide, and every sense felt heightened. The intimacy of reading other women's innermost thoughts was nothing compared to this, the honesty in Melissa's eyes, the joy of her response.  
He felt happy for the first time in a long time. On that thought, he buried his face in her curls and fell asleep.

********

Morning light woke him. Groggily, he turned over, putting out an arm for Melissa. The bed was empty, and the fact of it woke him up.  
She stood in the doorway, dressed for work, down to her heels and a strand of pearls around her throat. "How do you feel?" she asked easily, coming into the room carrying a cup of coffee.  
Jake cleared his throat and considered. Hot, sweaty, reckless sex seemed to be a cure for incipient hangovers. He ought to write it up for the Journal of Medicine. "Good," he finally managed.  
"Oh, so you don't need this coffee," Melissa said wickedly.  
Groaning, he flopped backwards on the bed. "Don't torment me, woman."  
She laughed and sat on the edge of the bed, taking a sip from the cup before passing it to him. "Come on. I'll run you by your loft before we go into work."  
He handed her the cup back and ran one hand up her thigh. "Can't we call in sick?"  
There was a surprising flicker in her eyes, a moment of uncertainty... vulnerability? She covered it well, and rose smoothly. "Nope. Discipline is good for the body. Or the soul. One of those, I'm sure." Putting the cup down on a table, she bent to pick up his hastily-discarded clothes, tossing them to him on the bed with a sassy grin.  
"If I can't tempt you with a day in bed, maybe I can tempt you with dinner. I make a fantastic pesto sauce."  
The look in her eyes was quicker this time, harder to define. "Your place or mine?" she asked, and nothing in her voice betrayed anything but amused interest.  
"Mine. I've got the makings. Oh, and take a change of clothes for tomorrow." Jake grinned at her. "You'll be too tired to get up this early two mornings in a row."

********

"Want," Melissa said greedily. She was pacing the loft with the lust of an artist in her eyes, and Jake leaned back, watching her. In the final fall of sunlight for the day, she stopped in front of a set of floor to ceiling windows and spread her arms as though embracing the world. The light fired her hair to a satin brilliance, and turned the rest of her into a dark silhouette.  
Dinner was suddenly looking much less interesting. Still, Jake persevered, chopping garlic and checking the water. Almost boiling, he thought, as Melissa crossed to the kitchen space and opened her tote bag.  
"I brought a bottle of wine." She held it up to his face to show the label, since his hands were busy.  
"Not bad," he said admiringly. "You had this, and we were drinking rotgut brandy at your place last night?"  
"You drank it, didn't you?" she asked, laughing at his scowl. "Where's a corkscrew?"  
Jake pointed with his chin. "The drawer." Piling the garlic on his chopping knife, he dumped it into the food processor with the basil leaves. Then he quickly washed his hands and stepped over to Melissa, putting his arms around her as she struggled with the cork.  
The cork popped and she set the corkscrew aside, leaning back into his embrace. One of his hands settled low on her abdomen. She shifted her hips slightly, and half interest became full alert.  
"Um," she sighed. "Aren't you... busy?"  
"Boiling water will keep." He turned her and with fingers scented with garlic and lemon hand soap cupped her face, tilting it up for his kiss. "The wine needs to breathe."  
"So do I," she murmured when he finally pulled back.  
"I want you."  
The stark words seemed to move her. With bottomless trust in her eyes, she put her hands in his and let him pull her from the kitchen.  
He stopped in front of the window, enjoying the way the light cut across her face, dramatic shadows and brilliant highlights. Keeping his eyes on hers, he began unbuttoning her silk blouse.  
Slowly, wordlessly, they undressed each other, tossing the clothes away until they stood naked in the light from the window. He loved the way she looked, every curve heightened by the rich light streaming across her. He ran the back of his hand across her breast, and smiled when he heard her breath come in quickly. "I love touching you," he whispered, pulling her closer, feeling her body along the length of his. Drifting, they sank to the rug beneath them. "I love touching you, and knowing you want me."  
"I do," she whispered back. Her hands moved hungrily over his body and he lay back and let her. Her mouth followed, kissing and nibbling in unexpected places, until he groaned and reversed their positions.  
"If I had realized you were going to eat me alive, I would have fed you first." Her laugh became a gasp as he moved his hand from breast to thighs, pressing lightly, then deeper, finding her warm and wet. His thumb found the knot at the top of her entrance, and rubbed, while his fingers moved torturously slowly.  
He kept pressing deeper still, until she arched her hips restlessly and said, "Inside me. Please. I want..."  
Her words were lost as he pushed inside her, strangled on a moan as he slid home, deep, reaching deep inside her. He still moved slowly, kept the pace as patient as he could. The desire to hurtle into climax was clawing down his spine, but that was easy. This... this was closeness, the touch of skin on skin, the absolute surrender of his self to her, and of hers to him. He wanted her more than he wanted a physical release, and tortured them both by spinning out their responses for as long as he could.  
On a soundless cry, Melissa convulsed under him, legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, her head tilted back on the rug and her hair spread around her like a dark halo. Control shattered, he followed her into the blinding light, and the darkness that followed.  
Coming to himself, he rolled off her, pulling her close as she cuddled against his side. Both of them laughed when his stomach grumbled a protest. "Food, sex, and sleep," she teased. "That's all guys think about."  
"No, that would be sex, sleep and food," he corrected, getting to his feet and offering a hand to help her up.  
She smiled at him, still chuckling. "I think your water's boiled by now."  
"Screw the water." Scooping her up as she screamed with laughter, he threw her over his shoulder and carried her to bed.

********

Three weeks went by before Jake realized he hadn't checked the P.O. box. He and Melissa had finally completed a proposal that pleased the Millar Group, and their time was back to being their own again. Melissa was going out with some friends on a girl's night out, but easily kissed him and promised to come over to the loft afterward, no matter how late. Until then...  
There were three letters in the box. One of them was an obvious fake, the sort of Penthouse story that never happened in real life. He got that sometimes, someone reading his ad and thinking he wanted fantasy more than fact. He scrawled "return to sender" across the envelope and mailed it back, and took the other two home with him.  
One of the letters was funny, a twisted courtship of lies and misinformation that had him chuckling as he read. The other was bitter, a woman's obsession with another man that cost her her marriage and her pride... for nothing.  
Sighing, Jake folded the letter up and put it back in the envelope. Only the Penthouse-fake had enclosed a return address so that the money he offered in the ad could be sent. More often than not, the women who wrote to him just wanted to be heard, penitents confessing to an unseen priest their erotic dreams -- and nightmares. Reaching out was enough for them.  
It was the one thing he hadn't done in four years -- until Melissa.  
Glancing at the clock, Jake realized that Melissa was probably on her way. Without thinking, he gathered up the letters and shoved them into a drawer. Then he froze. Hiding the letters was instinctual, and no doubt a good idea, if for no other reason than the intensely private thoughts they held. But what would Melissa think of this hobby -- his obsession? Something dirty, Something obscene? Curious? Distasteful?  
He couldn't begin to guess. She was bright and charming and loved life, but except for occasional flashes, he couldn't sense her deeper emotions. As far as she was concerned, this was a pleasant affair, casual lovers enjoying themselves. How could he explain to her that this was the most intense emotional experience he'd had since Alex died?  
How could he explain to her what he'd yet to explain to himself?

********

"... Seattle," Martin said.  
"Sure... what?" Jake tried to focus on the conversation.  
"We need to build up the office up there, and it sounds as though Melissa has what we need."  
~I need,~ was Jake's first thought, a white-hot flash of possession. Throttling it down, he said nothing, and let Martin continue.  
"She's young, bright, ambitious. And you've had nothing but praise for her work. Which is entirely backed up by our own opinions, mind you. She deserves a promotion, and we need good people up there. It suits everyone."  
Martin's voice receded to a distant buzzing. Nothing. Jake felt nothing. His fingertips were numb, as though he'd brushed a live wire and wasn't yet feeling the shock.  
He felt nothing. Not even as he walked to Melissa's scrap of an office and congratulated her. Her eyes were bright and she almost danced into the room, delighted. When she saw him there, she stilled, some of the brightness fading.  
He took her hands, trying to school his mind into acting normally even when he was dazed. The feel of her skin almost burned him. She was warm, and he'd suddenly become so very cold. His voice sounded odd in his own ears when he said, "Congratulations. When are you leaving?" He bent and kissed her cheek, breathing in her scent. "I can help you pack," he continued inanely. "And I've got some friends up north, they can help find you an apartment. You'll want a loft like mine, right? I know you love it. Don't worry about the cost. Your new salary will more than cover it. You're earned it." He took a deep breath, trying to still the flood of words. If he kept talking, if he just didn't let her say anything, he wouldn't have to hear about her delight at leaving him.  
~You're a self-centered son of a bitch. She's not leaving you. She's moving on with her life. So goddamn focused on yourself. No wonder Alex never confided in you. Did she try, and I didn't notice?~  
"Come on, we should go celebrate." He'd never felt less like it, but she deserved it. Deserved the promotion, the chance to further her career. With a bright smile, she got her purse and followed him out of the office.  
********  
She spent her last night in LA in his loft, and he saw her off the next morning. She was driving to Seattle in two long stages, and he worried for her. Particularly since he hadn't let her get much sleep the night before. He'd been too hungry, trying to store sensory memory against the coming cold.  
She called when she reached San Francisco, reassuring him that she was fine. He kept her on the phone as long as he could, until she finally yawned into the receiver and he had to let her go. They promised to keep in touch.  
They didn't.  
********  
The cafe where his P.O. box was the same. Two letters awaited him, one a few sheets and one a heavier manuscript in a manila envelope. Maybe a real diary for once.  
He took both letters and Stella and wandered out to the pretty patio to order coffee. Nothing had changed. He had done this so many times before, and would do it so many times again.  
Nothing had changed. Life have moved on again, and left him behind. With his letters, his diaries.  
With memories.

END PART ONE

********

Part Two

Dear Red Shoes:  
There's a certain purity to despair that's almost a comfort. It's warm, you can wrap it around yourself like a blanket, shut out the world, live within a bubble, protected from grief by grief. Sound, light, thought, all is muffled, lost in a winter's landscape of snow and ice, frozen.  
But laughter has a habit of catching you unawares. You betray yourself with an unwanted snicker at a coworker's joke, a scripted witticism from a sitcom. Then you close your mouth over the laughter, because the sound opens a crack in your carefully built defenses. And you resent the idea that you will heal, that the thing that caused you so much pain will someday be a memory -- vivid, never-to-be-forgotten, but still... only a memory.  
It's when you can laugh again that the pain really hits.  
I have to laugh at myself, Red Shoes, because I'm being so melodramatic. I fell in love with a guy who didn't love me back. Happens every day. Had the best sex of my life, so I can't really complain. And I didn't get dumped. I suppose, if anyone did the dumping, it was me. I suppose if anyone betrayed someone, it was me.  
I betrayed myself.  
It started so slowly that I don't think I ever realized where I was going until I landed. I'd see him in the hallways, nod-and-smile, same as everyone else in the firm we worked in. I doubt he knew my name; I was the entry-level grunt. I certainly knew his; he was the shining luminary of the company. But I didn't realize what was happening until one day when I heard his voice at a distance. I shuddered, once, because it felt like he had touched me, put out his hand and cupped the most intimate part of me. That's when I admitted that I wanted him, would watch him across the office for no other reason than the pleasure of seeing his body move.  
All right, I told myself briskly. Obsession. Happens all the time, especially when it had been oh-so-long since there had been someone to distract me from -- or with -- what my grandmother might call my baser urges. Immature and inconvenient, but it happens. Get over it, I told myself.  
But I didn't...

********

She was tracing patterns on the carpet with just the toe of her shoe, watching the light from the uncovered window pour over the fibers. The shade change was startling as she moved, dark to light and back again.  
She must really be bored if this was entertaining her. Stretching her high-heeled foot out, she reached above her head and arched her whole body like a cat. Her desk chair groaned with the effort, her spine popped, her silk blouse pulled loose from the waistband of her skirt and the finely pleated wool pooled at the top of her thigh.  
"I know you're bored, but you might want to stay awake for this."  
Settling her body back down, she glanced up at her assistant. Lorna was leaning on the doorknob of the small office. Infinitesimal office. The assistant she shared with four others. Boring work that didn't challenge her, didn't excite her. That all would change, she promised herself. Soon. "What am I staying awake for this time?"  
Lorna came all the way in and closed the door behind her, dropping a file on the desk. "Oh, only the chance to fulfill two of your deepest fantasies at once."  
Paging through the file, skipping the parts that didn't interest her, focusing on the important parts... "The Millar building?" she squealed, dignity lost to career greed. "You're kidding me!"  
"That's not all," Lorna said smugly. She flipped to the last page of the file, and pointed. "You're working with Jake on this project."  
Melissa looked up, meeting Lorna's eyes. "What are you talking about?"  
Lorna seated herself comfortably in the one guest chair Melissa managed to squeeze into her office. "Oh, come on, Melissa, like I can't tell? You've had the hots for him since you started here. Not that I disagree with your taste, no, not at all..."

********

Jake dropped the pages he was reading, stood up, stumbling backwards. Stella whined softly and he put out his hand blindly, felt her slide her muzzle into his palm, seeking comfort from him.  
Melissa wrote this? The thought was stunning enough to numb, completely. He'd spent four years delving into women's minds, reading the thoughts they kept secret from the world, trying to piece together an understanding of how he could have been so oblivious to Alex's pain and what had driven her to destroy herself. And he'd never even begun to think that Melissa had felt for him anything more than amused affection, sweetened with lust.  
Jake couldn't move, not until the wind started stirring the pages, scattering them. Then his hands moved, independent of his own thoughts, and captured the papers flying away.  
The first page escaped the farthest, flapped in the breeze, taunting him until he managed to grab it, crumpling it in his eagerness to retain his hold. Under his thumb, he read, "It's when you can laugh again that the pain really hits."  
He sat down again at his table, coffee cooling beside him, and smoothed the paper out until his vision steadied enough for him to read again. Tracing the words with a finger as though reading Braille, he slid back into Melissa's brain, seeing what she had seen, feeling what she had felt.  
Seeing their affair through her eyes.

********

"I don't know --" Melissa started, then sighed and shook her head, "why I bother trying to keep anything from you."  
Lorna grinned, helped herself to a green apple jellybean from the bowl Melissa always kept full on her desk. "I see all and know all. That's what makes me good. So, to summarize: you get to work on the project of your dreams with the man of your dreams. What could be more perfect?"  
Melissa stood up and crossed to the window, peering down into the busy street. *Jake.* The guy she had a silly schoolgirl crush on. Hell, she hadn't had a crush like this when she was a schoolgirl. Why had it waited until she had hit thirty and was old enough to not be able to blame her stupidity on youth?  
Could she do it? This project was more than just another job to do, a project to blunt her skill on until something good came along. This was the something good that had finally come for her. The Millar Group was a major player. If they liked the building, it would be a huge feather in her cap. And the higher-ups knew this. They were testing her. If she did well, she'd get a promotion. And they paired her with Jake so that if she screwed up, he'd be able to catch her before she fell.  
Fell. Oh, God. She was *not* going to fall, period. She wasn't going to screw this up, not because of urges she could damn well ignore. She'd spent the last ten years focusing on her career, and she wasn't going to throw it all away for love or lust. Not that she was in love with Jake. And not that he'd ever be in love with her. Everyone knew that he still mourned the fiancee who'd killed herself. She didn't need to get messed up in that.  
Melissa straightened her shoulders. That was it, then. She'd work on this project, she'd give her bosses a design that would knock their pants off, and she'd not be tempted to take Jake's off as well.  
Turning back to Lorna, she scooped up a multi-colored handful of jellybeans from the bowl on her desk. "So," she said, projecting the image of ambitious young professional through her eyes for all she was worth. "When do we start?"

********

__

Jake and I worked on the project for two solid weeks without either one of us noticing that the other was the opposite sex. Well, I didn't notice any more than usual. During the day we were focused on working up sketches, proposals, options to present to the board of the Millar Group. At five PM -- or seven, or nine, depending on how late we worked -- we'd part and go our separate ways.  
Jake was perfectly agreeable to work with. He could have been an asshole about being yoked with a subordinate, or assumed I was there to run his errands and do the dirty work. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and dove into the dirty work with me. He was pleasant... but distant. Even with the inevitable frustrations of work, he never seemed to lose his cool.  
  
It didn't take me long to realize that he walked in a perpetual fog; alert, attentive, but not really there, not in the ways that counted, the ways I wanted. I was too busy during the day to torture myself much, but at odd times, I'd sit back and realize what I'd stumbled into, so blindly. I was in love with him, with the way he moved, the quick snap of his wrist as he pointed out a flaw or a perfect curve, the sound of his voice, the dry wit that would occasionally peer through his eyes. And I knew that if I ever touched what he kept so distant inside of him, I'd burn myself so thoroughly I'd never recover.  
At night, I'd go home and alternately laugh and cry at myself. I couldn't control what I felt. Sometimes, I'd look into the mirror, and I'd think I'd see in my eyes what I saw in Jake's, the beginnings of the walking wounded, the scars that were bricks in a wall that sealed out the world. Some of those nights, I'd call up friends and haul them out to movies, to clubs, dance until three am even though I had to be at work at eight, anything to burn off the energy that was consuming me. Other nights, I'd curl up with a book or an old movie. Things like this would never happen to Katharine Hepburn, I was sure.  
And at night, I dreamed. God, how my unconscious mind would torture me. I'd wake up feeling his hands on me, tongues tangled, bodies arching, straining, shuddering in completion, in mindless delight. And I'd be alone. Always alone.  
My friends were no help. 'Jump him,' one said. 'Forget him,' another. I was counseled to take a lover or a cold shower, depending on who I talked to. But I didn't want any of the perfectly nice guys who tried to pick me up in bars and clubs. I wanted Jake. Period, full stop.  
But I shied away from even the thought of confessing to him what I felt. Even if I toned it down to mere lust, just a sexual attraction, I couldn't stand to open myself up to rejection. How much worse if he knew my stupid, juvenile passion for him. A waking nightmare was the thought of confessing all, and watching those cool eyes slide past me, faintly pitying but not really there.  
  
My only defense was to be exactly what he expected me to be. A sharp, smart coworker, enjoyable to be around but without emotional demands. It was surprisingly easy to step back into that shell, to show only what I wanted shown, to keep myself from being vulnerable by being impenetrable.  
And it would have worked, too. If only...

  


********

"God *damn* it!" With a snarl, Jake threw a pencil across the room. It bounced off the window and dropped to the carpet.  
"Not very satisfying," Melissa commented dryly, coming into the room just in time to see Flight 101 of PencilAir. "What's up?"  
She'd never seen Jake lose it before. It was startling to see he had a temper, that he could be provoked into acting like a cranky five year old. She preferred it to his usual indifference. Her normal mental state was a cranky five-year-old's as well, even if she managed to hide it.  
"The Millar Group rejected all of the proposals."  
Detachment and amusement blinked off, smothered by fury. Melissa shut the door behind her and crossed the room swiftly. "All of them? *All* of them?" she demanded.  
With furious snaps, Jake started flipping their various conceptions for the Millar Group's new corporate headquarters into the trashcan. "Every. Single. One."  
"What the hell was wrong with them?" Melissa asked.  
"Too plain. Too boring." He shoved a chair out of his way, and shoved it harder when it bounced back at him. "Too fucking dull."  
"Bullshit," Melissa hissed. She started pacing the room, waving her hands to emphasis her words. "I've seen the building site. You *can't* put anything too ornate in that area! It was stick out like a diamond in a pigsty."  
"They want something that says power. Opulence. Importance."  
"Stupidity," Melissa shot back.  
"No shit." Sighing, Jake collapsed into the chair he'd been shoving around and dropped his head against the back. He lolled in a pose of utter exhaustion, bonelessly sprawled.  
Melissa echoed his sigh, and sat on the table. "So tomorrow we start over?"  
Without opening his eyes, Jake said, "Yup."  
Briskly, Melissa nodded. "Fine. It's four pm, we're tired and pissed off. Come on."  
Jake opened one eye and look up at her. "What?"  
Melissa aimed a killer grin at him. "Yøou, my boy, are going to be initiated into the mysteries of womanhood. You're going to find out what chicks do when pissed off."

********

"Expensive chocolate and cheap brandy?" Jake asked, puzzled.  
They'd swung by his loft and he'd grabbed his workout clothes for comfort. Now he was lying on his stomach on the floor of Melissa's apartment. She sat cross-legged on the couch above him, dressed in sweats with her hair pulled into a high ponytail. "And ice cream. Don't forget that."  
"I thought women planned elaborate revenge schemes and boiled bunnies and things."  
Melissa laughed. She felt like she was on a high wire, exhilarated, terrified, dizzily aware that she could fall any moment. She'd taken her relationship with Jake from office friends to something more. She kept it light, kept it casual, but for the moment she was just happy to have him near her. "No, that's different. That's when we're pissed off at guys. When we're pissed off at the world, it's chocolate and alcohol and ice cream."  
"And chips and nachos," Jake added, surveying the spread that a supermarket had been pillaged and ravished for. "Where do you put it all?"  
"And movies," Melissa finished, ignoring the last comment. "Since you are a guy, we'll go for things-that-blow-up rather than tearjerkers."  
Jake's smile was slightly forced for a second as he shoved Speed into the VCR. "Can't have that."  
They watched three movies, making progressively sillier comments on the probability of the bad guys getting away or the good guy's shirt remaining in one semi-piece rather than being blown to shreds as the level in the brandy bottle dropped. Melissa slipped from her seat on the couch to the floor, ostensibly to keep Jake from eating all the nachos, but really for the illicit thrill of feeling his body heat through her skin. She was flushed, burning up from drinking and desire when one of the movies hit the obligatory, perfunctory love scene. Even such a coldly mechanical set-up woke resonances in her body. A hand there, a mouth there, she could feel them as though Jake was touching her, mirroring the overly muscular hero of the movie. Fuzzily, she thought, ~Good thing that we're not watching Terminator, or I'd jump him for sure.~  
Sometime -- they weren't really sure when -- they realized they'd been watching snow for several minutes. Melissa groaned and raised her head from the carpeted floor. "I am going to be hating life tomorrow," she said with admirable clarity.  
Jake's hand moved weakly, and the brandy bottle tipped over. Slowly, he rolled his head to the side. "Oh. Empty. Good."  
Carefully, Melissa attempted to stand. The room swayed but did not spin, so she figured it was safe to take a step. "Okay. You gotta stay here. No driving."  
Jake made a long noise that Melissa puzzled over for several minutes, before translating it as, "I'll get a cab."  
"No. No cab. You'll get out, you fall on your face in the gutter, you pass out, you die of...." Her tongue tripped hopelessly over the word "pneumonia," and she finally gave up, pulling an afghan off the couch and draping it over Jake's prone body. "Okay. 'M going to bed. Night."  
Jake's answer was a snore, so she figured the argument over him staying was over. She wobbled down the short hallway to her bedroom.  
"Hot," she said out loud to the walls. Clumsily, she tugged off her sweats, left them pooled on the floor of her room. Some small, sane, sober part of her brain warned her that sleeping naked with Jake in her apartment was likely to cause a four-alarm fire, so she tottered over to her dresser and pulled a silk slip out, dropping it over her head. The fabric felt good on her over-heated skin, and she skimmed her palms over her sides, enjoying with her disordered senses the slide. Restraints loosened by too much brandy, she closed her eyes and swayed. Her hands fell to her sides as she imagined Jake's there instead, sliding up the silk to cup her breasts, thumbs teasing the tips. His lips on hers, mouths devouring each other until they were mindless, driven by blind need, intellect lost to instinct.  
She blinked and shook her head, then shook it again for the fun of having it float above her shoulders. "Whoa. Bed. Sleep."  
She crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her head, and was out two seconds later.

********

The clock on her nightstand said 2:33. Melissa groaned and rolled out of bed. Incipient hangover was a nasty elf with a tiny hammer in her temple, tapping lightly and warning that his big brother would be visiting in the morning. She was better off drowning him in water and aspirin, starving off the worst effects before they could hit. She wrapped a warm robe over her thin slip and headed to the kitchen.  
Sometime turning the night, Jake had hauled himself up from the floor to the couch. One foot hung above the floor, the other was dangling over the arm as he lay on his stomach, his face turned to one side. He didn't look innocent, or young, or any of the clichés she'd ever heard. He did look at peace, the lines at the corners of his mouth smoothed out as though he no longer had to set his jaw against pain. She paused by him, looking down for several moments.  
She couldn't do this to herself ever again. She couldn't invite him over to hang out, or be casual friends with him. It wouldn't satisfy her; it was like giving a heroin addict a half-dose, not enough for a high but too much to allow withdrawal. She'd have to break her heart cleanly, one blow, two pieces, patch them together again and move on.  
Tears burned in her eyes and she blinked them back, taking a deep breath. Last time she'd gotten her heart broken it had hurt for years. Then again, if she struck the blow, she'd only have the pain to deal with, and none of the humiliation. She wouldn't have to remember the contempt and cruel amusement. She would nurse her own pain, and Jake would never, ever know.  
Soft-footed, she made her way into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and opened her aspirin bottle. She shook two pills into her hand, reconsidered, and shook two more. Swallowing them, she drank the entire glass of water in one long draught, then poured another.  
"Can I have one?"  
Godohgodohgod, she'd never heard his voice like this. It was always appealingly low and slightly hoarse, but now it sounded like sandpaper on velvet, a physical thing on her skin. She tugged her robe minutely closer, grabbed her hormones in both hands, and turned to him, handing out the full glass with a smile. "Sure. Have some aspirin."  
"Don't mind if I do," he said with ghostly humor. He tossed the pills back and drank the water as fast as she had. Transfixed, she watched his throat move, swallow, again and again, wanting nothing more than to stroke her fingers down it, press her lips against his skin, taste the saltiness with her tongue.  
~Don't touch. Don't take. Can't have.~ Sudden, bright fury welled up in her. She was sick of wanting and not having, sick of not even being allowed to reach out. Even if she was the one not allowing. ~Not fair, damnit, not fair, *why* not, not fair...~  
Jake lowered the empty glass and Melissa smiled easily at him. "Drink more. Dehydration is what causes hangovers."  
He seemed barely awake, eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on her. "Yeah, I know," he said with a distracted, ironic inflection.  
She filled the glass and handed it back to him. Instead of taking it from her, he slid his fingers along the back of her hand, his touch chilled from the cold water. She shuddered from cold and longing and her hand spasmed, dropping the glass. It shattered at their feet, splashing both their legs with ice water.  
"Oh, God, I'm sorry," Melissa gasped.  
Jake had the advantage and took a step back, away from the broken glass. "Don't move," he warned, looking at her bare feet.  
Melissa wanted to laugh, mostly so she wouldn't cry. It was a perfect metaphor. Her heart lay shattered around her, and she couldn't take a step without bleeding. But she couldn't stay in one place forever.  
"Hold on," Jake said. With one easy motion, he slid one arm around her shoulders and the other under her knees, picking her up and swinging her away from the shards of glass. Reflexively, she threw her arms around his neck to keep her balance.  
He completed the turn and seemed to be about to put her down. He hesitated, and Melissa closed her eyes, trying to make the moment last.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."  
"Hmmm?" Melissa said dreamily, opening her eyes. Jake was staring down at her, and suddenly she realized what she'd seen was not him being half-awake, but desire on slow burn.  
For her.  
Slowly, he released his arm beneath her legs, letting her body slide down his. "When you dropped the glass."  
"What glass?" His hand was smoothing up her thigh, palm warm against the skin of her rear, under the slip, fingertips probing lightly, faintly rough.  
He didn't look amused at her obvious bemusement. He looked serious, and intense, and any defenses she had shattered in the heat of his gaze. His hand moved from her hip to her breast, dragging the slip with it as his mouth crushed down on her, drinking from her as greedily as he had the water. She drowned, pressing her body against him, moaning as he bit lightly at her lip. His other hand was at the small of her back, pushing her hips against his, and she had no illusions about what he wanted. He was hard against her, hungry, desperate, and for a moment he wished he'd just push her against the kitchen wall, wrap her legs around his hips and be inside her before she could think.  
She made a small sound of fury as he pulled back from her slightly, hanging on and seeking his mouth, an addict from the first hit. She slid her hands up his arm, down his chest, revealing in the fact that he was breathing hard, that his skin was sheened in sweat. "No," he said.  
Pride was Melissa's mainstay, her shield and weapon. It didn't take two moments for her to cast it aside. "Please," she said huskily.  
Jake laughed, breathlessly, wryly. He pulled her hands from his chest, lacing her fingers with his. She was so sensitized that even that contact aroused her. She knew if he touched her, deep inside, she'd come, immediately, blissfully. "Don't worry, I don't want to stop. I just want to slow down. I want to see you wild," he murmured as he drew one of their linked pair of hands down the middle of her body, between her breasts, over the slippery silk. He leaned down to kiss her, but barely let his lips brush hers, lightly, teasingly. He kept her hands prisone∞r until she growled with frustration, and only then lifted his head. She could see what his restraint was costing him, and what would happen when it snapped. "Bedroom."  
Eyes linked with his, she towed him to her room. In the faint light that came in the window, his eyes seemed to burn. She glanced at the bed briefly, half-expecting to see herself there, dreaming this. It was empty, covers tangled from her restless sleep.  
Jake let go of her hands, dragging his fingertips across her palms and watching her shudder. He smiled as though her reaction confirmed something. "You wanted me. Earlier. That's why you dropped the glass."  
Flinging her hair out of her face, she met his gaze challengingly. "You wanted me. That's why you touched me."  
"Oh, yeah, I want you," he said, his voice a low murmur. Gathering her hair in both hands, he brought his mouth down on hers again. When he moved back, she was barely breathing, her eyes drowsily closed with desire. "Take off your clothes," he whispered.  
She pushed the robe from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. The slip hit at her mid-thigh, and it was thin enough that she knew he could see her nipples, hard against the thin fabric. Meeting his gaze, she smiled as she drew the slip over her head, baring her body for him. "Your turn."  
The ragged top came off first. Touching only with her eyes, she traced the muscles in his arms and chest. Oh, definitely a dream. This was too perfect to be real. The burn inside of her became a harsh pulse as he stepped out of the loose pants he was wearing. Control shattered as she placed her palms on his chest and shoved, until he was sitting on the edge of her bed. "Now."  
"No," he said for the second time that night. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her onto the bed with him, rolling until she was under him. "I want you to want me as much as I want you."  
"Damnit, I do," she gasped as his tongue licked her breast, rough velvet lapping over unbelievably sensitive skin. She fisted her hands in his hair and held on tight as he sucked hard, tightening the nipple to an ache of pure pleasure.  
Her head turned restlessly on the pillow as he switched to the other breast. One hand traced light patterns on her stomach, a caress that should have been ticklish and instead was absolute torture, slowly trailing downward. She wanted his hand between her legs more than she wanted her next breath, and drew one leg up, trying to trap his hand.  
He laughed, the vibrations echoing through her breast to her core. "Slow down. No hurry. No... hurry... all..."  
Smoothly rolling her over onto her stomach, he brushed her hair up above her head, and kissed the nape of her neck, sinking his teeth lightly into the soft skin. One hand moved down her spine, finding sensitive places that made her moan. His hand passed over her bottom, hovering just inches above where she desperately wanted him, then moved down her legs. She growled in frustration, and he laughed again, sounding drunk on joy.  
Abruptly, he reversed direction. His fingers found the seam of her body, and slid deep. Melissa arched in paradoxical relief and increased desire. He still moved maddeningly slowly, pressing, retreating. Lips next to her ear, he murmured, "You're wet. Very, very wet. You want me, don't you?"  
"That's what I've been trying to-to tell you," she said, strangling on the words. His thumb found the most sensitive part of her body, and caressed it lightly. Jake's body was pressed against hers from shoulder to heels, his cock hard against her hip. She let her head fall on his shoulder and sighed, giving herself up to mindlessness. "More," she whispered.  
"Hell, yes, more." His fingers pressed harder, deeper, and she twisted frantically against him as her climax began, a frenzy that left her dazed and panting.  
Rolling suddenly, Melissa found herself on her back again, arms pinned above her head by one hand while the other spun her dizzily into pleasure again. "More," Jake whispered again as he slid inside her. "And more... and more... and more..."  
The rhythm beat in her blood and she arched into it. He seemed totally oblivious to anything but her, even to himself. He was hard, and full, and deep inside her for what felt like hours, as she came again and again in rushes that blinded her.  
Pushing on his shoulders, she managed to reverse their positions. Laughing at his startled look, she bent to kiss him. "Your turn." Rocking on top of him, she took him impossibly deeper. In his ear, she whispered, "I watch you, you know that? I watch you move, and I think what it would be like to have you inside me. You'll know now, when you see me. I'll want you to drag me to the floor and take me until I'm blind and desperate, and you're... you're..."  
She laughed with triumph as he shattered and came in her. Sinking down into the haven of his arms, she sighed and drifted into dreams.

********

I suppose the most surprising thing was how easy it was. For all my confusion and fear of being hurt... it just happened.  
And kept happening. Most nights, Jake came home with me, or met me there. Occasionally, I'd spend the night at his place, in the loft I lusted for as only an artist can, for light and space. Stella became as much at home in my place as she was in Jake's, with her own foot bowl and toys.  
We never talked about what we were doing. Used to short-term casual affairs, I wasn't used to having a lover in my bed until morning came, to the small intimacies of knowing mundane details about each other's lives. I pretended a poise with the situation that I didn't feel, acting as though I was used to two consenting adults who could relax with each other without messy things like hearts coming into the situation.  
I'd been right, though. Touching the fire in Jake burned me to the bone. He was capable of so much, so much feeling and love and heart and hope... and he so ruthlessly buried it. I didn't blame him -- I'd done much the same myself, for much less cause -- but it hurt. It hurt.  
So I refused to think about it. We were up to our eyebrows with redesigning the Millar Group's building, trying to find something that would suit their delusions of taste without completely humiliating us. We were back to the ten and twelve hour days... with a few distractions...

********

"No." Melissa leaned over the slant desk and pointed to the sketch. "Move that over there."  
"Bossy," Jake complained. He shifted his seat on the tall stool next to her, trying out her suggestion.  
"See?" she said triumphantly. "*Much* better."  
Late-afternoon sunlight streamed into their workspace, reflecting off the paper in front of them and up into their faces. Melissa linked her hands and lifted them above her head, arching back with a groan. They'd been working long days again, banging out a concept they hoped the Millar Group would like, and the long hours were taking their toll.  
Jake absently put his hand on the small her back to support her, and Melissa bit the inside of her lip to keep the groan from becoming a moan. Her reaction to him wasn't slowing down or wearing out. No matter how many times they made love, she wanted him as much as the first. More, if truth be told.  
The hand on her back slipped around her hip -- casually, of course. Without seeming to move, Jake's head was brushing her left breast as he looked over the sketch. But when his right hand suddenly disappeared under her skirt, she laughed and grabbed for it. He evaded, fingers trailing fire against the bare skin he found. She'd taken to wearing thongs and garter belts, things she'd never worn in her life, because they made her feel reckless, and wicked, and free. And they pleased her lover as much as they pleased her.  
Her restraining hand faltered as he slid his fingers just under the elastic of her panties. They were standing side by side in the office, Jake was focused on the design in front of him, and if anyone opened the door, they would see two coworkers involved in their jobs. Meanwhile, Jake's fingers started a faint, fluttering motion, something that she probably wouldn't have felt it hadn't been against the most sensitive part of her body.  
Breathing deeply, Melissa tried to gather her thoughts, her self-control, *something*. "Jake," she hissed, though there was no one to hear her. "Stop it!"  
With her in her heels and him seated on the tall stool, his mouth was just below her ear. He pressed his lips to her neck and murmured, "Do you want me to stop because you don't want to, or because you're afraid someone will walk in?"  
"I don't... I don't..." Melissa gasped. "I don't want anyone to know."  
His lips were against her ear now, his whisper a dark promise. "You don't think that they haven't been gossiping about us for weeks now? They probably think I've been fucking you from the beginning." His fingers slid deeper and Melissa strangled on a half-laugh. "I wanted to. From the moment we were introduced. And you wanted me." His other arm came around and cupped her breast through her silk blouse, his thumb rubbing the nipple that was already tense and aroused.  
Melissa felt even the desire for self-control slip away. Jake's voice continued, a low, steady throb to match the one inside of her. "They probably think I push you against the wall and slide my hands up your thighs. That you smile as I slowly take off you panties and you touch me and --" It was his turn to gasp as Melissa suited her actions to his words, kicking free of the scrap of lace around her ankles, and cupping the thickening length that hardened further at her touch.  
"Then what?" she whispered conspiratorially to him, amused and aroused by the recklessness of it.  
"Christ, you want me to think?" They laughed together and he brought his hands up, burying them in her hair. The scent of her own arousal surrounded both of them as they kissed, as Melissa worked his zipper free and touched him.  
He pulled free, panting. "Whatever you want," he promised her.  
"Unbutton my blouse," she said, keeping her eyes on his. He managed it, even though his hands shook occasionally in reaction to her touch. She was just trailing her fingers lightly up and down him, delicately scraping her nails at unexpected moments. Her blouse dropped to the floor, and her bra followed.  
His hot gaze went to her breasts, then up to her eyes. "The wall?" he asked.  
"God, yes." Laughing, wrapping herself around his body so that they stumbled awkwardly, they managed to make it across the room. The cool surface against the skin of her back and rear and thighs made her catch her breath. She caught it again as Jake wrapped one of her legs around his waist, his hand hot on her bare flesh. Supporting her, he balanced her body between his and the wall.  
His first thrust was deep, and hard, and made her cry out. Suddenly remembering where they were again, she tried to smother the sound against his shoulder. The knowledge that they were in a busy office, surrounded by coworkers, with an unlocked door should have brought her crashing back to earth. Instead, she tightened her thighs around his hips and leaned her head back on the wall, arching her neck.  
God, he was deep. His mouth skimmed her neck, his hands were braced on the wall on either side of her head, and his body never stopped pumping, thrusting deep inside of her. Her eyes met his, and she couldn't blink, couldn't look away, seduced into orgasm by the intensity of them, the wildness that lived there. Even as she convulsed against him, he groaned and shuddered, short, hard jerks of his hips.  
Drained, they slid to the floor in an untidy tangle of arms and legs. Melissa wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. Moments like this, the perfect contentment she felt made a mockery of the idea that she could just be Jake's casual lover. He was still inside her. He always would be.  
Melissa finally lifted her head and said, "We better get up before someone comes in."  
Jake grinned at her with lazy satisfaction. "Don't worry. I locked the door."  
"Oh, good planning," she said as she pushed him onto his back and jumped him again.

********

The Millar Group finally accepted our proposal, and professed themselves absolutely delighted with our design. Jake and I continued to spend most of our nights together, although since we were no longer working killer hours, I was free to spend time out with my friends. I hadn't told any of them that Jake and I had become lovers. I didn't have to. They knew, and wrapped in their support I held on, and waited for the blow.  
When it came, it was from an entirely different direction than I had anticipated. I was afraid of betraying my feelings to him, betraying the unspoken agreement to not say anything at all. Afraid that he'd not be able to deal with even a light relationship anymore, and would disappear. Afraid that we'd drift out of the relationship we'd drifted into.  
When Lorna popped her head around the door of my office and said that I'd been called in to speak with the vice president, I had no premonitions of disaster. Instead, I jumped to my feet, quickly checking to make sure my appearance was professional, and danced off to my justified promotion. The building we'd delivered to the Millar Group was brilliant. I knew I wouldn't be in on the construction phase, but I'd proven myself to the company, and now it was time for the company to appreciate that.  
They did.  
"Seattle?" I gasped. For a moment, I couldn't make the word make sense.  
The VP grinned, enjoying my reaction. "We've been trying to build up the office there. Seattle's in a boom right now. We need to take advantage of it. We need someone with energy and drive and ambition up there, setting an example."  
In one minute, I'd gone from grunt employee to shining luminary of the company. I'd be an executive up there, with the power and influence and the kind of control over projects that Jake had down here.  
Up there. Down here. I'd have to leave Los Angeles. My family, my friends. Jake. Oh, God, Jake.  
Still grinning broadly, the vice present came around his desk to shake my hand. "I'll give you some time to think about it. But, I'd like to point out, there's no comparable offer to make here. If you decide you don't want to relocate, we'll find something for you, never fear. You're too good to lose. But..."  
But, I completed for him, it would be baby-steps forward, instead of the great, luscious, career-making lunge he was offering me. "Thanks. I think. Shouldn't you warn someone when you're about to drop them off a cliff?"  
He threw his head back and laughed, and walked me to the door of his office. Dazed, practically weaving on my feet, I wandered back to my tiny office.  
Jake was there. I gaped at him, completely incapable of making my mind work. Fair proof of that was that I decided on the spot to refuse the offer, to stay in Los Angeles. I couldn't leave him. I couldn't have him, not the way I wanted, needed, but I couldn't bear to leave him.  
He rose and took my hands after I shut the door, leaning in to kiss my cheek. "Congratulations. When are you leaving?"  
I blinked at him. "What?" I said, stupidly.  
"I can help you pack," he continued. "And I've got some friends up north, they can help find you an apartment. You'll want a loft like mine, right? I know you love it. Don't worry about the cost. Your new salary will more than cover it. You're earned it."  
He wanted me to go, I realized dully. It was a tidy way to end a casual relationship. We didn't even have to bother to acknowledge that we were ending. Time and distance would take care of it.  
"Come on, we should go celebrate." That was different. We'd never actually gone out anywhere together. Never been on a date. We'd been nothing but lovers, ultimate intimacy without the preceding steps.  
I wanted to faint, laugh, cry, run away or fuck him blind. Instead, I said, "Great idea. Let me get my purse."

********

The last night I spent in Los Angeles, I spent in Jake's loft. My apartment was cleared out, the lease sublet to someone else, my furniture was on its way to Washington State. I was leaving in the morning myself.  
I only had one more night.  
It was quiet. Music played, but it was muted. We talked, easily, as we always had been able to. We ordered a huge gourmet dinner to be delivered, and fed choice bits to Stella.  
I was floating. This was unreal, a dream. More a nightmare. I couldn't be leaving. This couldn't be ending. I wasn't ready. I needed more if I was going to survive alone. More touch, more memories.  
When we went to bed, I could see his hesitation, feel my own. We didn't want to start to make love, because then it would end. And it would be the last time. I couldn't stand the thought of the last time. But then his arms went around my waist and pulled me close, and his mouth on mine, my neck, my breast, trailing hot over my belly to the deepest part of me sent me spinning into the mists that surrounded me.  
He groaned under my touch, too, and my hands went everywhere, hungry to trace and take every part of him, keep the sensory memory of him with me. When he finally could take no more and pressed me down to the bed, I opened to him, eagerly, desperately. We kept it slow, tried to make it last forever, tried to hold onto something so ephemeral that it slipped away even as we clutched it.  
At the end, when I could hold on no more, he reached deep inside of me and touched my heart. It shattered into a million fragments. And every one of them was his.  
The next morning, we barely spoke, couldn't find words for what we needed to say. Mundane comments on the weather, the trip kept wasting our time together. I couldn't help it. I felt like I could barely move, trapped in glass.  
I almost lost it when Stella padded up and grinned up at me. I patted her head fondly. "Bye, girl. Take care of your master, here."  
With one overnight bag, I left the loft to go to my car. "Call me when you hit San Francisco," Jake said. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, hair blowing in the faint wind.  
I swallowed. "I will."  
For a moment, I thought he wasn't going to move. Then he stepped forward, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me very, very gently.  
Kissed me goodbye.  
I got into my car, and drove two blocks. Then I pulled over, put my head down on the steering wheel, and cried.

********

Intensity of emotion can't survive when there's nothing feeding it. I told myself that all the way up to Seattle. However wretched I was feeling now, I'd get over it. Eventually. Knowing that didn't make it any easier at the time. It just gave me the strength to take a deep breath and keep going.  
I was unpacking in my new apartment, the loft Jake had promised me, the soft, grey light spilling around me. I unwrapped a glass from a newspaper, and caught sight of your ad. The pain almost blinded me, sharp, sudden, unexpected, a knife to the heart. And that's when I knew I was fooling myself. The love I had for Jake wasn't going to go away, just because I wanted it to. I was going to love him, always. Someday I'd heal, I knew that. I'd laugh and find joy in the world around me. I'd have a good life. But I'd always be incomplete. I'd always long for him.  
I don't know what happened to you, Red Shoes. I don't know how or when or who you lost. But I want to know why, too. Why did I have to love him? Why couldn't I at least admit it, get the words out and damn the consequences? Why did it begin, and why did it have to end? Why?  
But then, if you could answer those questions for me, you wouldn't have an ad in the paper, would you?

Signed,

UNREQUITED

********

END PART TWO

********

Part Three

In the fading light of day, Jake dropped the last page to the stack. He was sitting on the floor by one of the tall windows in the loft, surrounded by the pages of Melissa's story, lit by a flow of brilliant orange sunlight. Every page called to him, screamed to him, asking why hadn't he noticed, why hadn't he cared.  
Four years of living without emotions. A few weeks of living with them. Pain was white-hot, an electric current that flooded his senses. What was lacking in him? What didn't he understand? Why did he lose every woman he loved, Alex to death, Melissa to the twilight world she'd condemned herself to, a hell of lost chances and lost loves.  
~Broken dreams and unrequited loves are stored on the moon,~ Alex had told him once, quoting an old family story. A barren rock held the most fragile of desires. Was Alex there now, a lost love forever out of his reach? Were Melissa's dreams shattered on the dry rocks of a dead world?  
Slowly, slowly, anger replaced pain. ~Why couldn't I at least admit it, get the words out and damn the consequences?~ Why not? Why couldn't Alex have trusted him to forgive her, or not forgive her, and *lived*? Why couldn't Melissa have trusted him to tell him of her love?  
Howling with fury, Jake pounded one fist against the glass wall beside him. The reinforced glass bounced his hand back at him, resisting his petty human emotions. Anger was cleansing, was freeing. ~I didn't do anything wrong.~ Alex's death was bitterly unfair, and not his fault. He wasn't condemned to be alone forever because she was too hurt and confused to confine in him. He loved her. Sometimes, love wasn't enough.  
Rising to his feet, Jake gathered the scattered pages of the manuscript Melissa had sent him. And sometimes, love was exactly what was needed.

********

She was out at the building site, he was told at the office. Only a few blocks away. In the gentle rain of a Seattle summer, Jake found the construction site. Parking across the street, he got out and leaned against his rental car, watching.  
Work didn't cease the way that it might have in LA. Interior work and some rough exterior work continued through the intermittent showers. It was during one of the clearer spots that Melissa emerged from a trailer, surrounded by three men.  
She'd suddenly been called to the work site, Jake had been told. The loose topknot of her curly brown hair was not suited for the hard hat she had just pulled off and held casually in one hand as she listened to one of the men. Her skirt was office-wear as well, long, wrapped around, moving in the breeze to reveal her long legs, occasionally parting up to her thighs. She ignored it, concentrating on the men around her, their gestures to the building that was hers. Learning. Absorbed. *Alive.*  
After a few moments, she returned the hard hat to one of the men, shook hands all around, and headed out to the street. He could tell the moment she saw him, recognized him. He was close enough to see her eyes go shocked, blank to hide her thoughts, then warm to friendliness. "Jake," she said, holding out her hands. "What are you doing in Seattle?"  
He smiled at her. He had a feeling the edge in that smile was what made her go still and blank again. Hiding her emotions. Hiding the things she'd never wanted her lover to see. But she'd spilled it all to an ad in the paper, and she couldn't hide them any more. "I had some time, thought I'd come up and see how you were settling in."  
"Oh," she said brightly. He could almost hear the wheels in her head turning. She'd said her goodbyes, parted from her tragic unrequited love. It wasn't in the script to have him show up randomly and chat up old times. His smile became edged again. Predatory, he was afraid.  
"If you want to see the offices," she began.  
"I've seen the offices. I wanted to see you. See your place."  
"My place," she parroted. "Sure. Um, my car's over there. Follow me."  
Fifteen minutes in the strengthening rain got them to a pretty, small apartment building, not quite on Elliot Bay, but with a view of the water if you leaned out far enough. He followed her up the two flights of stairs to her top-floor loft, listening as she talked casually. Alone on the ride over, she'd obviously regained her grip on herself, controlled her emotions, restrained her thoughts. The mask of her cheerfulness worked so well because in many ways it wasn't a mask. She was bright, lively, delightful to be with.  
And she never let anyone closer than an arm's length away. Jake was going to be closer. Much closer. But first, the mask she wore had to be shattered.  
The loft was beautiful, just as he imagined her space would be. The tall windows sent grey light through colored glass displayed here and there, sparking jeweled tones throughout the room. Hardwood floors shone golden honey under richly toned rugs that defined living space, dining space, office space. A stairway to a platform above had a pair of shoes kicked at the bottom of it, leading up to the bedroom.  
Melissa crossed into the kitchen, playing the good hostess, offering a snack, a drink. ~Love,~ he thought to himself. ~Oh, love, you try so hard to pretend you don't care. Give it up.~  
She came out with two glasses of white wine in her hands, crossing to where he stood by her dining table. "I'm so glad you got a chance to come up here and see the place." She frowned at him lightly when he didn't take the proffered glass of wine. "Jake? What's up?"  
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out her manuscript, tossing it on the dining table. She was puzzled for a few moments more, until recognition sunk in. He watched it seep into her eyes, as she slowly put down the wine glasses and reached for the papers. Her fingers stopped a few inches short, as thought they were too hot to touch. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.  
He swept the papers out of her reach again, tucking them away. And waited.  
In the soft light of the failing day, he finally got to see Melissa without her mask. Pale, almost frozen with shock, she stared at the spot on the table where the papers had been, trying to think, trying to reason. She took one deep convulsive breath. "Loss of a one in a lifetime love. I should have known," she said almost inaudibly.  
"Why?" She flinched at the gentle word. He turned to take her arms, making her face him even if she wouldn't lift her eyes to his. "Why?"  
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't..."  
"Don't what? Don't ask? Don't touch you? Don't... *what*?" It was killing him to know that she was hurting, but he made himself not give into the desire to pull her close and soothe her. It was too soon. He had to have honesty from her. They needed it.  
"I..." she began, and stopped. She squeezed her eyes shut. Jake could feel her trembling. She took a deep breath and tried again. "It wasn't... I didn't... God!" she cursed finally. Still, Jake waited patiently.  
Long moments later, she shuddered and sighed. The curve of her spine seemed to soften, as though one of the things that held it stiff had relaxed. He had a feeling it was pride. "I didn't want you to know," she said quietly, in a voice bled of emotion. "You wouldn't have known, if I had managed to figure out that you were Red Shoes. I'm sorry," she added.  
The final two words were a whiplash of fury added onto his simmering emotions. "You're *sorry*? For what?"  
She tried to move her hand in a dismissing gesture, but he still had a firm grip on her arms. "I didn't want to... bother you," she said in the same dead tone.  
"Bother me?"  
"Stop repeating everything I say." She finally looked up at him. The motion broke a tear free from her eye. In a precise, controlled voice she said, "I didn't want to put you in the position of having to deal with my... inconvenient emotions. I'm sorry." The apology came out ice-edged.  
He felt like he was almost touching something, straining, reaching... "What makes you think your emotions would have been... inconvenient?" He tried to not slur the word with sarcasm, and almost succeeded.  
A fine tremor rocked the arms he held still in his grasp, but Melissa's voice was ruthlessly calm. "You'd lost your beloved fiancee. You hadn't dated since then. Everyone knew --"  
"Everyone knew nothing about me. Or did you expect that I'd be the one behind Red Shoes? *Why didn't you tell me?*"  
"What?" she said, flaring. "So you could laugh at me? So you could pity me? Poor Melissa, eating her heart out over a guy, going overboard as usual, never seeming to know how to play the game right. Screw you." She yanked her arms out of his grasp and took a step back, breathing in quick gasps.  
He stepped towards her and reached out. But this time, it was to brush a tendril back from her face, to cup her cheek. "Why would I laugh at you? Why would I pity you?"  
Fury had shattered the control she'd fought for, his tenderness had scattered the shards, and she was back to shaking again, pale. "Always," she said, almost soundlessly. "I always do this. Always care too much... feel too much. Love too much. And I didn't want you too look at me like he did, puzzled because I was coming up with all this adoration and devotion. Love was okay, as long as it was light, but I... always... too much. Embarrassed him. Embarrassed myself. Oh, God, I never learn!"  
Her tears fell into the cup of his palm, pressed still to her cheek. He slid his other hand to the nap of her neck, and brought her close into his body. "I love you," he whispered. "I adore you."  
"Don't," she moaned. "Don't humor me."  
He tilted her face up to his, forcing her to look at him. "You think this is humoring you? Pitying you? I fell in love with you, and I thought all you wanted was a casual affair. I lost a woman I loved more than life because she couldn't, wouldn't trust me. I wasn't looking for anyone else because I couldn't stand the thought of losing again. And then you came into my life and you yanked me out into the sunlight again and it *hurt*, damnit. And I loved you, and you couldn't, wouldn't trust me. And you danced out of my life, and left me cold. So don't tell me I'm humoring you when I tell you the truth that you didn't tell me, because I don't know if I'm pulling you into sunlight or shadow. My track record sucks. But I need you," he whispered finally, and lowered his mouth to his.  
With an incoherent cry Melissa poured herself into the kiss, all barriers down. "I love you, I love you," she gasped when he lifted his mouth. She pressed a closed fist to her heart. "Oh, God, it hurts."  
He caught her fist in his hand and carried it to his mouth. "That's how you know it's real." He kissed her again, and they didn't talk for quite some time.  
Afterwards, surrounded by their scattered clothes, Melissa turned in his arms to face him. "What are you thinking?"  
Jake entwined her fingers with his. He'd been thinking of Alex, thinking that he'd never thought he'd be able to feel this way again. Fighting guilt that he had a second chance, a chance Alex was forever beyond. He didn't want the shadow of her to come between him and Melissa, but he'd forced honesty from her, he owed the same. "I was thinking of how lucky I am, to be able to try again."  
"I'm lucky," she said softly. "You give me the courage to follow my heart."  
Possessively cuddling her close, he said, "You're mine."  
"Mine," she echoed back sleepily, and drifted off.

********

And they lived happily ever after.  
Well, not quite.  
The fact remained that Melissa had a new job a thousand miles and two states away from her lover. Love was one thing, ambition was another. Besides, both she and Jake had a great deal of healing to do, and while in the storybooks the words, "I love you," healed every wound, in reality they were only a start.  
Both of them got very used to Seatac and LAX, long weekends and short goodbyes, and phone bills that reached stratospheric levels. Eventually, Melissa figured that a job would open in LA, and she could return to her family and her friends... and her beloved. Until then, she cherished his voice on the phone, the long talks, the times when his voice was an aural caress over her skin, firing her with love and passion.  
On one of those nights, she was laughing, breathing hard, counting the days until her next flight to LA, when Jake suddenly broke in with, "I'm closing the P.O. Box."  
"What? Why?"  
She could almost see his shrug. "I thought it would be obvious. I wanted... I wanted to understand why Alex did what she did. I don't think I'll ever quite know how she felt, but I understand. Besides... I would have thought you'd..."  
"Not want you to read other women's intimate confessions?" Melissa filled in. She sighed, and thought for a moment. "Don't do it."  
"Why not?"  
Idly twining the cord of her phone around her finger, Melissa slipped down in bed, resting her head on the pillow. "It was a... release for me. The chance to say anything I wanted, tell the whole story without feeling as though I would be judged or made a fool of. I think a lot of women need that. The chance to... tell the truth, feel as though what they've gone through, whatever they've gone through, isn't being ignored. The chance, the hope that someone cares."  
"I see what you mean."  
"You'll keep it open?"  
"Yes. Yes, I think I will."  
"Good. Good night. I love you."  
"I love you too. Sleep well."

********

Ad in the personals:

WOMEN  
Do you keep a diary?  
Have you been betrayed?  
Have you betrayed another?

Man, 39, finding new hope, starting over after losing everything, willing to listen.

Will pay top $$  
For your experiences

You're not alone.

 

THE END


End file.
